


dumbfounded by the glow of your gold halo

by littlecreature



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: F/F, F/M, Pre Canon, italicised paras are Sulpicia's POV, one sided A/S i guess ????, sadly no poly coven, the rest is Corin, this did not turn out as expected, this relationship is not healthy please don't try it at home, vampire lesbians always win
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-04 00:05:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13352319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecreature/pseuds/littlecreature
Summary: OH GOD I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M STARING AT A LIVING ANGEL





	dumbfounded by the glow of your gold halo

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Kyiliki over on tumblr. I hope she enjoys!

_“Stay,” is all she begs of you and you look from where your face is buried between her legs and you take in the anxiously bright red eyes that stare down at you and you give her one of the kindest smiles you can imagine yourself giving and you dig your nails into her hips (though you know it will have no effect on her, especially not one so young) and you tell her you can’t leave anyway, she of all people should know that. She replies with a soft gasp and drops her head back; red eyes no longer guilting you._

 

****

  
You didn’t know that vampires could cry – well, they can’t. They don’t have the BIOLOGY to do that. But your mistress sits there, with her face twisted in anguish and it’s incredibly foreign to you. She lays her head in your lap and her body near convulses as she speaks, as if it’s trying to expel tears that won’t ever come. Athenodora had left the room two shattered vases ago and you could only hope that they weren’t valuable. You pet her hair, braiding and then taking them out – never tugging, not that she would really notice if you did. You run your fingers down her back, rubbing circles into marble skin.

  
You try for hours to pry the answer out of her and you don’t really get a full one, but you gather from choked words that your master is going to be gone for longer than the week he had promised. She remains a prisoner. You don’t particularly understand her upset at the situation, she should be used to it by now and Master Caius left for a full four months once, Lady Athenodora coped well enough. Then again, he sent word of his safety. Master Aro was more sporadic in his correspondence. You dip your head towards her forehead, leaving the measliest of kisses there, a smear of pink hidden by dark hair. She stops shuddering in response. You stay, you don’t leave to check on the other woman – focusing all efforts on the one curled in your lap. You don’t speak and neither does she – but you slump into a more comfortable position and play with the dark locks, eager to find something to do.

  
Eventually you start to speak with a slightly hoarse voice; speaking of the girls you lived with during your human life. The memories are as blurry as Rome is – you wouldn’t recognise the city if you were there now. She perks up as you mention your celibacy (though you supposed being immortal broke one million and one rules of being a Vestal Virgin – not that the virgin part had changed) and her hand lingers on your thigh as she pushes herself up and you think you’ve misheard but you cannot mistake her lips on yours or your dress falling to the wayside or how she covers you with a blanket like a lover would. You do your best not to be too loud.  
She asks you to forget but she knows it’s impossible for your kind to do anything of the sort.

  
Master Aro returns, with the spoils of a dead Russian vampire clutched to his chest. He is grinning as he places a necklace around her neck suddenly you are unneeded. You worry at first that you will become disposable and that your days are numbered but Master Caius still calls on you to be present and you spend hours with him, listening to him recount battles, his thoughts drifting into complacency with each bloody kill. You listen but you don’t care. You think of her and how you can hear her laugh from across the castle. She’s all you can think about. You know HE knows and you become moody. Even Jane, (who every vampire fears even just a little) treats you with a sense of trepidation when she sees you from down the hall. She’s twelve, she doesn’t understand. She won’t ever. You envy her. You don’t understand why he’s letting it pass – perhaps he’s not interested in her like that, despite the lengthy marriage. You decide it won’t happen again. It’s not worth the jumble of emotions that you can’t sleep away.  
But with every punitive mission, you find yourself tangled in her arms and she’s playing with your red hair and burying her face in your neck and she’s the sole cause of your limbs twitching, and you forget what you promised yourself.

  
“Princess,” she laughs before she disappears, and your fingers rake through her hair, hips pushing upwards as you search for a release and she gives it too you and kisses back up to your lips, calling you her little princess before she rolls away from you on to her back. You’ve never thought of your gift having a physical manifestation, but you can feel it in your hands and you touch her stomach tracing your usual circles, and you can feel her relax underneath you.

  
“I can take it away, you don’t need to think of anything else.” The words are coming from a part of your brain that you hadn’t allowed to be active, not in a few centuries. “I’ll make you happy forever. I can do that.” You lull her into your arms and there’s a part of you that knows you shouldn’t keep her like this. Her complacency is fake, what you have is fake. You tell her you love her, she agrees. You wonder if she just hasn’t heard it in that long, she’ll agree to anything. You take it as a win anyway. You’re her princess and you carry it with you as you walk through the castle as if you own the halls and that your cloak isn't grey. That you have one black as pitch.

  
But you don’t – you keep her tethered and soon enough, he neglects the tower and you have her all to yourself. He doesn’t care about her. It’s a formality and a front. You care about her, you care so much.

  
****

  
_“Stay,” you beg her, as she stands from the floor, wiping her hand against her lips. She crawls up the bed too you, red locks pulled back in a loose ponytail and her crimson eyes are alight with mischief as she presses kisses along your collarbone. With every kiss, you feel yourself calming down, a familiar haze settling around your thoughts. One you welcome because she cares enough to calm you down. You let her fingers trace mindless patterns into your stomach. Her lips are by your ear, gently nuzzling your cheek as she promises it’s ‘til death do us part._


End file.
